


Shame

by kenchang



Category: Punisher (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 16:56:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17832512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenchang/pseuds/kenchang
Summary: Frank Castle, the Punisher, investigates the murder of a teenage schoolgirl, and gets into a brutal battle with the killer. But Frank may have more in common with the murderer than he thinks.





	Shame

**Author's Note:**

> This work may contain some inaccuracies and character breaks.

I park my Battle Van across the street from Kelly Cattrall's house. I just call her a Battle Van. She's completely inconspicuous. Just a regular black van with tinted windows. Sure, those windows are bulletproof, and she has a small arsenal hidden in various secret compartments. But it's not like she has my Punisher skull logo painted on her hood.

A week ago, Kelly's classmate and best friend, sixteen year old Sarah Park, was murdered in her home. She was shot once in the forehead. There was no sign of forced entry. Nothing was stolen. Both her parents were at work at the time.

I don't have a contact in this town's precinct, so I don't know if the cops have made any headway with the ballistics. Simplest alternative I can think of is to ask Kelly if her best friend had any enemies that hated her enough to kill her. I'm not gonna use any disguises. As meticulous as I am, I don't need to overthink or complicate this too much. Sometimes, the truth works best. I'll go in there, tell her that I'm the Punisher, and that I'm going to make Sarah's murderer pay.

I'm about to exit the van and do just that when a squad car halts in front of the house. What the hell? The cops already talked to her a few days ago. Maybe she remembered something and called them back. A uniformed police officer exits the vehicle, walks up the front porch, and rings a doorbell. Kelly answers the door. They talk for a minute, and she lets him inside.

Nothing I can do now but wait until he leaves. I pick up the latest issue of Modern Firearms on the passenger seat. I'm just about to start reading when I hear a gunshot! I quickly put the magazine down, and look up to see the police officer run out the front door. He gets back in the squad car and quickly drives away. What the hell just happened?!

With a pistol in my hand, I dash towards the house. The policeman left the door open. I enter and find Kelly bleeding on the floor from a bullet wound through her forehead, her eyes left open in a last moment of shock. I check for a pulse. Nothing. She's gone. It was the cop, if he really was one. But why?! Gotta get out of here before a neighbor spots me and blames the Punisher for the murders.

I get back in the van and drive. Maybe I can still catch up to that squad car. I spot it after a couple of minutes, stuck in traffic, and I decide to tail it. Can't have a shoot-out in a busy street where innocent bystanders could get hurt. The car leads me to a quaint, nearly isolated, suburban home with a white picket fence. Not exactly the kind of place you'd expect a serial killer, hitman, or master criminal to live in. The policeman exits his vehicle and goes inside the house.

Normally, I'd recon the place first, do some research, find out exactly who I'm dealing with. But for all I know, this guy could be packing his bags inside and getting ready to leave the country. Then he'll be back on the street and in an airport, which is an even worse place for a shoot-out. No. I have to take this scum out now.

I attach a suppressor to my pistol and exit the van. I cross the street to the house. After making sure that no one is looking, I get down on one knee and easily pick the lock to the front door. With the gun held forward and ready, I quietly enter. The interior is nice and tidy. It reminds me a little of the home my family used to live in, and I am momentarily distracted by memories of happier times.

From behind a corner, a nightstick crashes down on my right forearm, and I drop the pistol! The nightstick swings towards my face, but I manage to catch it with my left hand. I yank the cop out from behind the wall and give him a headbutt! Blood gushes out his nostrils, but he maintains his grip of the weapon. He punches me in the face with his free hand. I saw it coming, but I couldn't use my injured right arm to block the attack. I hope the bone isn't broken. He shoves me away with a push kick to the stomach, and my back slams hard against a wall.

I've gotten so used to fighting your average street punk, I've forgotten what it's like to fight someone with actual training. He must have known I was following him the whole time. I take my combat knife in my left hand, and hold it with the blade away from my thumb. I have the edge in experience and possibly the superior training. The cop is younger, faster, and he has the use of both his hands.

He swings the nightstick at my right, knowing that I can't defend that side with the busted forearm. I manage to move my head back, and the baton just narrowly misses my chin. I slash him in the shoulder with my blade! The cut is deep, and he bleeds profusely a second time. But he ignores the pain and surprises me with a spinning heel kick to the side of the head! I crash down on a low, glass table, shattering its top completely.

I'm dazed, and my brain wants to shut down, but I force myself to stay alert. My vision clears and, out of sheer luck, I find my pistol among the shards of broken glass, mere inches away from my hand.

The cop raises his club to squash my head in like a melon. I quickly reach for the gun, swing it upward, and shoot the policeman twice in the chest! He yelps and falls on his back.

I just lie there for a few seconds, catching my breath. Then I groan as I slowly force myself back on my feet. Surprisingly, the tough son of a bitch is still alive, and he manages to get up on his knees. Guess I missed his heart. I'm not Bullseye. I miss sometimes.

"You can't kill me," he rasps breathlessly. "The Punisher doesn't kill cops."

I answer, "You stopped being a cop when you killed those two girls."

"You should have done that!", he screams, tears running down his face. "My daughter, Molly, was all I had! She took her own life because of them! They tormented her in school, made every one of her days a living hell, made her ashamed of who she was. They posted embarrassing videos of her online, just because she was a little bit different. Those bitches deserved to be punished!"

He shuts his eyes, lowers his head, and sobs.

"Maybe they did," I say sympathetically, then raise the gun to his head. "But so do you."

I squeeze the trigger, executing him just like how he killed those two girls. His body falls on its side.

#

As I stagger to my van, I think about what the cop said, that I should have punished the two bullies responsible for his daughter's suicide. I don't think I could kill two teenagers for bullying. Then again, it wasn't my daughter that killed herself because of them. But even if it were, I still couldn't kill those kids.

I'd wait for them to grow up first.

END

**Author's Note:**

> To my fellow writers: I wrote this because sometimes, a reader will try to shame you from writing the kind of story you want the way you want to write it. That's all good. You should be grateful that he or she read your story and even took the time to review.
> 
> However, fan fiction writers don't get paid to write. So you might as well write whatever you want. As long as you include the appropriate warning tags, don't be worried about who you might offend. Because these days, you could write a kiddie fairy tale, and someone will still get offended.
> 
> But if you're too ashamed to write your story, and you keep it in your head, then no one gets to read it, not even the ones that might have appreciated it. And that's a real shame.


End file.
